


Traitor of the Sea

by MusicianInTraining



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Multi, daughter of Davy Jones, pirates of the caribbean - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28602225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicianInTraining/pseuds/MusicianInTraining
Summary: An unknown entity of the sea--and a long-forgotten, lost daughter--makes her appearance known to the entire crew of the Flying Dutchman perchance of Fate... This is the story of Catherine "No Quarter" Jones, the telling of her incredulous life...
Relationships: Calypso | Tia Dalma/Davy Jones
Kudos: 8





	1. The Origin

**Author's Note:**

> all things Pirates of the Caribbean (c) Disney, Jerry Bruckheimer, & Gore Verbinski

Fate allows a few tragedies to slip from the mind on rare occasion. She lets the mind cover the cruelty with an imaginary world, or with a false belief of goodness and mercy. Allowing our beliefs to cloud our judgement and sensibilities proves to cause more fatality than fortune in the long-run, however, and from those great falls the legends are born, broken, and re-born once more. They begin shiny and new, full of grace and empty of wisdom, like the glitter-filled mind of a young child. Magic was real, then, and was still on their side through every page in their story—or so they were meant to believe. Yet as their tragedy is told, the magic turns black, the defining edges of reality made clearer to the open eye, heart, and mind. When they are re-born, though…no one but Fate knows what life will have shaped them to be in the end. They could be Christ-like, re-born into a redeemed state of being, meant to become a savior to us all…or, they could fall as Lucifer fell, and be the one to destroy the world.

As every great storyteller knows, though, legends can and will always greatly differ from their actual origins…and thus did the legend of Davy Jones.

At the beginning of this tale, however, the infamous sea captain went by a different nomenclature, for what was in his name back then but the issue of yet another sailor upon the Earth? In the beginning, to sail was quite simply a job, a way to earn a living in a world so vast and unchangeable as the sea that roared across its surface. In the beginning, he was simply a Scotsman working from the land of the Dutch as a fair and forward sea captain. In the beginning, he was Vanderdecken, and his ship was quite simply a tradesboat—a vast one, yet a boat for honest goods alas. It became so much more than that as his story continues on, bearing the name _The Flying Dutchman_ throughout it all.

Greed dissolved the man’s honesty as he began to covet more and more in his days of simple trade and commerce. As he grew older he grew meaner, wanting nothing more than to own it all, to capture what gold and riches he could as he sailed the Seven Seas. Like a pirate he was, greedy and mislead from the time he discovered the beauty of being rich. Nothing could stand in his way towards riches of all sorts…

Nothing except the Sea herself.

Known by many names, the sea goddess Calypso enraptured the captain with her every move, her grace, and her beauty. The great expanse of her womanhood hypnotized his all, and he found himself irrevocably in love with her. She was a fleeting thing, after all, for who could tame the oceans? Who could so love a woman who in herself never stood still. One does not simply capture the tide, after all; they allow it to come and go as they pleased, loving it only in its short bursts upon the Earth. That was not enough for Vanderdecken, still. So consumed by his love for Calypso, he betrayed the honor and salvation that was that love and met with the most dishonorable human beings upon the Seven Seas: pirates. The Pirate Lords were the first to know Vanderdecken as Davy Jones, for his true name was not worthy of a pirate’s ear. In desperation, he taught them how to bind Calypso in her bones, to contain her in her human form.

With the sea goddess in his precious grasp at last, Davy Jones—Vanderdecken no longer—took to the Cape Horn, a voyage that would decimate his crew and his ship should he let them, and all for a glittering handful of emeralds. Calypso created storm after storm for the cursed crew to merge through, for despite her human form she was still a goddess, still stronger than any man that challenged her. Davy Jones felt the betrayal she set upon him and grasped and shook her until she fell unconscious, leaving him and the rest of the crew to ride the storm she had created alone, without her magical assistance to guide them through it all. The Flying Dutchman was destroyed, Davy Jones and his crew drowned in the terrifying shipwreck.

Rising from the dark, a figure walked upon the suddenly calm oceans and pulled Davy Jones’ corpse from the rubble, breathing life back into him as one would breathe upon a dandelion. When he awoke, he saw Calypso, fury in her eyes and a curse upon her lips as the rest of his crew awakened from their dead slumbers as well. She damned the Flying Dutchman and the man she loved, for he had betrayed her one too many times. She told him that the Dutchman would never again trade anything but the souls of man, that it would now serve as a ferryboat for the drowned souls at sea. She warned him that should he fail to perform his duties, he would become twice-cursed—not only immortalized due to his sins around the Cape Horn, also bound to the ship he once abused…but also warped and turned hideous, resembling the very oceans he sailed upon.

Betrayal hurt like knives constantly stabbing the old sea captain, and when Calypso left him the Dutchman, he also left him with a promise, that in ten years they would meet again. His love for the scornful woman still alive and inflamed, Davy Jones took a solemn vow to ferry souls as his love commanded him to do. He would obey, and in ten years’ time they would be together again.

Liars and cheaters are attracted to one another in this world, and though Davy Jones kept to his word and did his duty despite his longing to do anything but, Calypso had another issue to deal with on her own time. No longer known to be a goddess, the mysterious ‘Tia Dalma’ shacked herself upriver, hidden in the bayou from the rest of the world once she discovered she was pregnant. Despite the fact that she was a goddess, like all women left to raise a child alone she was afraid, and strongly considered aborting the pregnancy in any way she could. But her love for Davy Jones was still so fervent and so inflamed, she simply could not do away with any piece of him.

Nine months passed quickly, and Tia Dalma gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. At first she was nurturing, as any mother would be with a newborn, and yet she knew it would not last. She knew the child’s father would not be a good one, so she decided to hide the child away from the world she was born into and made a plan to toss her into the real world, with real parents and a chance at a regular life.

The first five years she held onto, and then one day she and the little girl traveled to Port Royal, a secure place for the rest of the child’s upbringing to occur. She told the little girl—whom she named Catherine after the great Spanish queen—that it was time for her to go, that someone else would raise her. The little girl did not understand, and when she saw her mother walking away—understood finally that she was _leaving_ her—she started crying out to her, tears streaming down her plump little face, her big blue eyes watery as the sea she came from. Tia Dalma never looked back; she simply ignored her daughter’s outcries and continued on her way until she was but a ghost in the darkness. Her own heart broke for the sounds of her daughter’s wailing, but she could not keep her. She could not destroy yet another soul, which is why she decided in the end not to meet up with Davy Jones five years later. The pain of her sacrifice would be far too obvious upon her face.

Those five years passed quickly—too quickly, and yet not quickly enough for Davy Jones—and soon he was allotted his one day on land. Upon traversing to his and Tia Dalma’s meeting spot, however, he found nothing but long stretches of sand and empty land before him. She was not there.

Fury. Pain. Sorrow. Heartbreak. Every emotion that could suit the situation ran through Davy Jones. Overwhelmed, he pulled out a dagger and stabbed it through his ribs, commencing to saw through bone and flesh until his beating heart was exposed. With an outcry that could chill any being, he wrapped his fingers about the organ and pulled with all his might until the thing was out of his body completely, still-beating in his blood-encrusted palm. Blood pooled from his chest cavity, staining the sand below him and making him feel traumatized and weakened. After everything they had been through…she was not there. He ended up burying his heart upon that island—along with everything he owned that reminded him of his love—before returning to his ship, his clothing bloodied and drenched in seawater and sand. Commanding his helmsman to take them as far away from that island as possible, he watched as it disappeared before him, along with the last bit of humanity that existed within him. 


	2. Tide Pools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all things Pirates of the Caribbean (c) Disney, Jerry Bruckheimer, & Gore Verbinski

**{Nine Years Later}**

The sun was hot that day, bearing down on her neck like a noose of heat and sweat. She did not care too much, either, nor did she care that the bottom of her dress was getting soaked as she explored a little niche in the sand, filled with sand crabs and seaweed alike. She poked at it with a stick, watching in amusement as the crabs re-buried themselves at its touch. Just as she was about to kneel and dig it back out with her fingertip, however, a voice in the distance called out her name. She ignored it for as long as she could until she felt a presence beside her and was forced to acknowledge it. Beside her—with a disapproving look upon her face and her hands gingerly lifting her skirts—was her sister Michelle.

“Now what are you doing with the crabs?” the older girl sighed, wishing she was somewhere where she would not get sand in her shoes. Catherine—the younger of the two but in no way any less knowledgeable—simple shrugged off her sister’s candor.

“Just observing,” Catherine muttered, not taking her eyes off of the little crab as it crawled up onto her palm. She lifted it up and stood straight as she looked closely at its beady little eyes.

“Ew, _disgusting!_ ” Michelle exclaimed, slapping the poor little crab out of Catherine’s palm. “Don’t touch them!”

“Why not?” Catherine demanded, wiping sand upon her skirt.

“Because it could pinch you, or worse,” she added, wrinkling her nose at her sister’s sandy fingers, “Get you _dirty_.”

“Dear sister, you have _got_ to get your priorities in order,” Catherine replied with a smirk. Michelle gave her a look of outrage at those words.

“ _I_ need to get _my_ priorities in order?” she responded. “Well, I—“

“Save it,” Catherine interrupted, walking away from her sister to grab her shoes from a grassy patch upon the beach. From where they stood, they could just barely hear the noise from the shipyard calling them back to civilization. Catherine was good at ignoring people; Michelle was raised from birth to become one of them. Because of this, the two sisters—not in blood but in bond alone—habitually clashed a lot in their ways.

The sun shone brightly upon the two young ladies, Michelle properly dressed, hair perfectly coifed and tucked within a bonnet to protect her face from the light of day. Quite the opposite, Catherine’s skirt dripped with seawater and was stained with sand, as were her shoes. Her bonnet was absent from her head, and her hair lay loose in skewed curls, ringlets elongated by the salty sea air. Her face was lightly tanned from her time on the beach, and she smiled ever so slightly as she looked up and saw the sun beginning to set over the oceanic waters.

“Father will be cross,” Michelle warned her sister.

“Let him be cross,” the younger of the two replied, plopping down upon the grass and tucking her knees to her chest as she watched the sky. “He’s not my real father anyhow…”

At those words Michelle’s face fell, her expression now one of pity. “He could be, if you let him be…” she mentioned lightly, moving to sit next to her sister. “After all, he’s the one who has taken care of you all these years.”

“True,” Catherine said, although her heart was not in it. No; her heart laid there, beyond the shore, far out to the sea. From the time she was abandoned—a day she recalled like the day before—she knew she was meant to live with the vast oceans, somewhere, somehow… _That_ was where she was meant to be, no matter how much her adoptive family tried to push her into their little circle. She could never fit in, which would have been fine if she only knew to whom she truly belonged to.

“…But no. I will not settle until I know,” Catherine said after a heartbeat, making Michelle sigh once more, effectively ending the conversation.

It always started and ended like this; Michelle would chastise her adoptive sister and Catherine would throw the fact that she was, in fact, _abandoned_ , not _adopted_. Then Michelle would point out that it was in fact Catherine herself that was keeping herself from happiness, from satisfaction. If she was not so set upon figuring out why she was left all alone in the world, then perhaps she would realize that she was blessed with a family right before her eyes.

But alas, the stubborn are never satisfied.

As they walked home, Michelle observed her sister—the way she walked with a deep-set frown upon her face as they approached their little cottage next to the large, foreboding church. Well, foreboding for Catherine, at least, for how could someone who had been left all alone at the tender age of five believe in a God of peace and love? Such was a sore subject between her and the preacher that adopted her—the question of belief—which was why Catherine dreaded going home every day. Every day she would pretend that everything was all fine, but both her and her adoptive family—lead by Father Jonathan Barker—knew that was a lie that taste sour upon each of their mouths.

Only Michelle was considerate enough to understand her plight. She would always be there for her little sister, regardless of how much her father and the strange girl disagreed. She understood why Catherine could be so bitter, for that would be exactly how she felt if she had no mother or father. Michelle thanked God every day that she had her father still, for she did not even have the memory of her mother to comfort her on stormy nights.

“Here,” Michelle said, bending over to swipe some of the sand off of her sister’s skirt, succeeding only minorly at the task. With a sigh she stood back up. “Another dress ruined…”

“Oh, how tragic,” Catherine said dully, obviously not caring much about fashion. “Perhaps I should just start wearing trousers?”

“ _No_ ,” Michelle replied immediately with a small laugh. “No, now that would certainly be un-ladylike.”

“God forbid I don’t dress like a lady as I scavenge like a pirate in search of buried treasure.”

“Shush, you,” Michelle said with a grin. If there was one thing they agreed on, it was the fact that a pirate’s life is an adventurous one. Michelle would never mention it before her father or even in any sort of polite company, but secretly her and her sister sat and imagined outrageous stories inspired by the sea shanties they heard on the docks. Catherine knew every word to all the best ones, and she took them up into her gorgeous soprano octave as she wooed the sailors with her songbird-like voice. There was many a time when Michelle had to pull her dear sister away from a grabby Marine, nevertheless she always did so with a giggle. The girls could not help but be transfixed by the brave men of the Royal Navy…oh, but Catherine was far more transfixed by the fact that they sailed the Seven Seas.

There was one young sailor that Catherine spent quite a bit of time with, for he would tell her the most fascinating stories of his days out upon the sea. His name was Ethan, and his goals in life were tall and grand. He hoped one day to become a Commodore, or even more so a Lord, and he foresaw himself doing so with Catherine draped upon his arm. Whether he would succeed in his quests Catherine did not care for much, so long as he continued to tell her his wonderful stories.

Michelle opened the door to their grand little home—a two-story cottage that held many niceties in it despite Jonathan Barker being a meager priest on a small British island. The reason being was because he was good friends with Governor Swan, which got him many points and benefits in the world of propriety and of English politeness. The preacher himself was not a boastful man at all despite his good fortune; no, he was gentle, unselfish and very kind in his overall attitudes. He treated Catherine just as he treated Michelle, even though she was not his biological daughter. He did find the need to reprimand her a bit more so than the obedient Michelle, which was not the girl’s fault. After all, who knows what she learned in the first five years of her life, those mysterious years that no one talked about but Catherine recalled as if it was all a dream. Nobody asked her about it all, either; most ignored the fact that this strange, blue-eyed and tan-skinned young woman truly did not belong.

Dinner was already prepared by the time the girls walked into the house, and they were served by the maid as soon as they sat down at the dining room table. Their father was absent from the house, probably tending to some order of business back at the church, no doubt. Catherine’s punishment would either have to wait or will not occur at all, for the girl took only one bite of her food and then ran upstairs to change out of her dampened dress, now smelling faintly of fish. Michelle rolled her eyes and tucked into her stew alone, as she normally did. Catherine rarely had enough of an appetite to pull her away from her self-made adventures, meager as they were.

~

On the year of her eighth birthday—a date that no one knew but they celebrated with   
Michelle’s nonetheless—Catherine had by then mastered the ability to read and write and was gifted a thick, leather-bound journal by Father Barker. It was a wonderful piece of work, the pages nice and thick so they may be written on both the front and back sides with a quill. Catherine loved it, loved the idea of writing her many adventures within its pages and immediately set to work on her first entry the very night she received the gift:

April the 14th, 17—

This journal belongs to Catherine Barker, the one and only. Upon these pages, I shall write only the best parts of my life, the most fun and the greatest experiences I experience. This is going to be a very special book to me and I look forward to filling it with words from the heart, mind, body, and soul.

That was the one and only entry she wrote, for it was soon after that that Catherine realized she was not meant to have any grand adventures whilst stuck in Port Royal. From that moment on she vowed to leave the island someday…but how to do so was the question.

~

Ethan returned from the seas the day after Michelle caught Catherine playing in the tide pools (again), and like a puppy Catherine waited dutifully at the docks for him. Once he undocked and stepped foot upon the wooden pier, she ran up to him and gave him a quick hug.

“Catherine!” Ethan exclaimed, chuckling as he accepted her embrace. He pulled away and touched a finger to the tip of her nose. “You’d better be careful, hugging me like that in public. People may talk.”

“Let them talk,” Catherine said dismissively. “Now, tell me everything.”

And so he did; as they sat on the pier, watching the boats dock and leave, they talked about the Marine’s trips, his time on the sea and his time upon the grand ship, the _Elizabeth_. He told her about his duties on board, pointed out which side was the port side and which side was starboard. He explained how being stuck in the crow’s nest was actually the worst job on the ship, despite the view (of this Catherine was not convinced).

“Any encounters with pirates?” Catherine asked, just as Ethan knew she eventually would. The sailor shook his head and smiled down at the girl.

“What is it about your obsession with pirates that worries me ever so slightly?” he said teasingly. “They’re terrible beings; what about them interests you?”

At that question Catherine remained quiet for a long moment. What was it about pirates that made her so fascinated, to the very point that she actually would love to be one? Was it the treasure, the shanties or the ships? The answer came to her as she watched the glittering waves cascade across the sands of the beaches she simply could not stay away from, as she watched the water go wherever it pleased…

“…Freedom.”

~

The night was calm and warm, as were most nights in Port Royal, and Catherine found herself leaning out of the open parlor window, taking in the sea breeze and thinking quietly upon many things. Among these things was the identity of her father—a mystery she often tried her mind with. She imagined him being a sailor, or perhaps even a pirate. Anything she thought of, it always had to do with the sea. He had to be associated with the ocean, for why else would she feel so connected to its waves?

“What ails you tonight, daughter mine?” Jonathan Barker asked as he entered the room, frowning slightly at the open window. "You'll catch a cold if you keep in the wind."

"Hardly," Catherine replied without looking at the preacher. "It's warm outside. The breeze is a humid one."

"Nevertheless," Jonathan spoke as he approached, reached over the fourteen-year-old and pulled the window shut, "I would prefer you not take that chance."

"Of course you wouldn't," the young girl muttered, making the preacher frown.

"I'd like to think I've earned a bit more respect from you," he said as he sat down next to her. Catherine did not reply, although she knew that the 'proper' response would have been a heartfelt apology. Instead she got up from the window seat and made her way out of the parlor. Father Barker followed her as she made her way to the dining room, where a lukewarm cup of tea sat upon the table for her. He sat across from her, observing as she took a large swig of the liquid, then set it down a bit roughly upon its accompanying saucer.

“We need to have a talk about your lack of…eloquence in your behavior, Catherine,” Jonathan began quietly, for he was not angry, just a bit disappointed that his teachings and those of their finishing school have not even fazed the young girl. “Sister Alice has made it known to me that you have been skipping class again.”

Catherine sighed heavily; their finishing school was through the church, which simply made the rebellious and sacrilegious girl believe it to be unnecessary. Michelle attended every day as any good girl should. Catherine made it a point to go as little as possible.

“Why should I go to class when all they teach is of redundant and frankly ridiculous mannerisms? I have no need for such an education.”

“What makes you say that?”

Catherine sighed and looked at her ‘father.’ “I want to run away. I don’t want to be here anymore…” She looked away before saying the last bit: “I want to find my father.”

Jonathan offered her a small smile, gesturing to himself. “I’m right here,” he said to his daughter, but Catherine shook her head.

“Do not misunderstand me, Father, you were and have been incredibly caring and nurturing throughout the years…but do you not agree that I need to know of my true identity? That it is impertinent that I find out who I really am?”

At that Jonathan rose from his seat, a deep-set frown upon his face. “How could you be so cold,” he muttered. “I’ve given you my heart, my everything, child…and you want to ‘run away’?”

Catherine set her jaw, knowing better than to push the usually kind man to the point of anger, for he was not the type to yell or hit, but rather the kind to guilt you into apology. No, she would not be had this time around.

“I want to find my father,” she instead repeated herself. Jonathan shook his head.

“I’m right here— _I’m_ your father.”

“But you’re not. Not by blood.”

“And if you find him?” Jonathan demanded. “Then what? You’ll just leave us, after everything we’ve been through together? Catherine, we are your family, you simply cannot think that you can just abandon us.”

Catherine finally rose from her seat at the table too, gripping the edges of the wood as she bowed her head, allowing her curly hair to cover her face.

“…For my father—my real father—…I could.”

Jonathan Barker stared at his daughter, hurt and betrayal evident in his face. Catherine refused to look at him as she muttered something about going to bed and made her way upstairs towards her bedroom. Michelle was in her room and look up from her Bible as she heard Catherine stomp past her bedroom door. With a sigh the elder girl rose from her bed and went to knock softly upon her sister’s door.

“Go away,” she heard Catherine utter from within.

“It’s not father, it’s me,” Michelle said, a soft plead in her voice. A pause, and then she heard the door creak open. Michelle looked straight into the deep blue eyes of her strange sister, recognizing the hurt upon her face and giving her a big hug in response. “He just doesn’t understand,” Michelle whispered.

“Nobody does,” Catherine countered, pulling away from Michelle. “Nobody does…,” she repeated herself quietly.

“I know,” Michelle said. “I can’t imagine what you are going through right now, sister. But I do know that I want to help you in any way. Not to run away…but to learn to be satisfied with what God has given you, because…”

Michelle sighed and shook her head. “…Catherine, if your father wanted to be found, he would have made himself known to you by now.”

At those harshly truthful words, Catherine visibly crumbled. She shook her head gently, then buried her face in her hands and turned away from her sister, not wanting to be seen crying. She felt a soft hand upon her shoulder and cried harder, her sobs audible to Michelle at last. It was not often that Catherine let her pain be visible to an audience of any kind, no—well, except when she often cried herself to sleep at the memory of her abandonment. She cried sometimes for no reason when she was alone, even if she was on the beach, the one place she loved on the entirety of the island of Port Royal.

“It’s going to be all right,” Michelle said, patting her sister delicately.

 _No, it’s not_ , Catherine stubbornly thought, wiping her eyes and turning back to face her sister.

“Are you going to be okay?” the elder sister inquired of her younger sibling. Catherine nodded a silent lie, then turned to go back into her room, shutting the door closed in her sister’s face.

~

After one final attempt at slumber Catherine huffed and threw the covers off of herself. Her sleep was often erratic at best, her dreams filled with unrecognizable faces and monsters alike. Truly she often preferred to simply just not sleep most nights. She re-adjusted her shift and made her way to the window. It faced the docks, as though to torture her by showing her what she could not have. With a sigh, she plopped down onto the floor, situating herself for a long night of looking at the moonlit sea.

Hour passed and Catherine felt herself getting a bit tired at last, so she stood and made her way back to her bed. Stealing one last look at the ship docks, she frowned ever-so-slightly, for she could have sworn she could see a figure at the edge of the pier. She rubbed her eyes, then looked again; still, there was a shape of a man standing there upon the wooden wharf. Certainly this was a mirage created by her brain, telling her to hurry up and go to sleep…but as she approached the window again, she could see all too clearly that the figure was actually there.

In a flurry, she slipped on her shoes and draped a dressing gown over her shift, making to sneak out of the house and meet up with the midnight stranger. Having done this before, she knew which stair to skip so as to not make noise, knew how to open the front door to as to keep anyone from waking up because of the moonlight flooding in. Once outside she blew out the breath she had been holding, looked towards the docks to see if the figure was still there. Upon confirmation of its existence, she braced herself and made her way out to the pier, her footfalls echoing quietly in the empty streets.

When she got closer to the shadowy character, Catherine silenced herself before she let out an unnecessary scream of shock. It was in fact a man, just as she suspected, but not just any sort of man or sailor alike. The man before her looked as if her had just walked up from the bottom of the sea, his barnacle-encrusted face as unwelcoming as the faces that haunted her in her sleep… They stood staring at each other for a long moment, waiting for the other to move, to speak…

“Catherine, I presume?” he spoke at last in a weathered, water-logged voice. Before any voice of reason within her could stop it, she found herself nodding her head up and down. Her heart, on the other hand, was beating faster than it should have been, as if she had just gone for a run.

The sea-man smiled suddenly, an unexpectedly kind and gentle expression for someone who looked as fearsome as he.

“Don’t be afraid, child,” he said, clearing his voice to eradicate some of the raspy-ness. “I ain’t here to hurt you at all.”

That calmed her, but only a bit.

“Then what _are_ you here for?” she asked, wincing internally. _That sounded so much stronger in my head_.

He sighed, reaching into the pocket of his algae-cover coat while muttering something like, ‘ _the captain’ll have my hide for scarin’ the young lass…’_

 _Captain? Lass?_ Catherine thought, frowning slightly.

“…Are you a pirate?” she inquired, fear being quickly overcome by dangerous curiosity. The man looked back at her.

“Aye, I was one.”

“What happened?” she asked, and the man almost answered, except that he could tell the girl had a second question to add to the first one. Catherine bit her lip before asking a little more quietly:

“How did you get like that?”

“I knew that was coming,” he said, but Catherine did not think he looked angry of offended by it—much to her relief. “But alas, that’s a story for another time. I wasn’t supposed to be gone as long as I have been…but here it is, what I was sent to deliver to you.”

He held out the light parcel in his hand—a damp envelope with her name written across the front in an official-looking scrawl. Catherine did not take it just yet, and right before she opened her mouth to inquire who the letter was from, the man answered her question:

“It’s from your father.”

“My _father_!” Catherine shrieked, her heart dropping to her stomach from utter shock and excitement. “Wha—who is he—how did he find me—how do _you_ know him? What—?!”

“Calm yerself, lass!” the man said, laughing at her reaction. “The letter explains most everything. I shall return later to fetch your reply, alright? But right now, I must be going…”

Catherine suddenly did not want this strange, warped man to leave, after all, for he held the answers to so many of her questions… She caught him looking out at the star-dipped crest of the black ocean before them, apparently thinking very hard on something.

“…You want to know how I know him?”

“Yes, at least tell me that,” Catherine begged eagerly. He looked down at her:

“He’s my captain. I serve upon his ship.”

And with that he turned his back on her—

“Wait!”

He stopped.

“…Sorry, but I don’t even know your name. You know _mine_ , please…’an eye for an eye,’ right?”

 _Interesting comparison…_ he thought ruefully, but nonetheless looked over his shoulder and into her curious, sea-blue eyes.

“Bill Turner…but they call me ‘Bootstrap.’”


	3. The First Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all things Pirates of the Caribbean (c) Disney, Jerry Bruckheimer, & Gore Verbinski

“Michelle! Michelle! MichelleMichelleMichelle!” Catherine whispered excitedly as she shook her older sister awake, tugging the covers from her at the same time. The poor girl—so rudely roused from her slumber—pushed Catherine away before reluctantly sitting up in bed and rubbing her eyes open.

“What time is it?” she asked groggily.

“What does it matter??” Catherine responded irritably. “Look! I’ve just met someone who knows my father!”

“What a lovely dream,” Michelle responded dully, then turned away from the girl and pulled the covers over her head. “Now go back to sleep.”

“No, you don’t understand! It wasn’t a dream!” Catherine said, ripping the covers off of her sister yet again. “Look!” she pleaded, shoving the envelope in the tired girl’s face.

With a heavy sigh, Michelle sat back up and took the parcel from Catherine. She blinked once, then twice, then glared harshly at her sister. “Did you sneak out to the docks _again_?”

“What does that matter when I’ve just received a letter from _my father_??” Catherine whispered harshly, gesturing to the letter in Michelle’s grasp. With another sigh the elder girl finally looked down at the envelope and raised an eyebrow.

“You got this from a random sailor you met up with on the docks?”

“Yes! Well…” Catherine stumbled over what to say to make it sound better. “He was not just any sailor, he…well…”

“And you’re sure you did not just dream this all happening?” Michelle insisted, which only made Catherine that much more frustrated.

“Do you not see the envelope right before your eyes!?”

“This looks like _Ethan’s_ handwriting—“

“This looks _nothing_ like Ethan’s handwriting!” Catherine quickly argued, snatching the envelope away from her sister. “Fine, don’t believe me!”

“If I say I believe you, will you let me go back to sleep?”

“UGH,” the younger girl groaned, then turned her back on her sister and made her way out the door. She stopped in the doorway and spoke once more over her shoulder: “He was real, Michelle…and he knows my father. I don’t care if you believe me or not, because he was as real as you and me.”

Back in her bedroom, Catherine quietly shut the door and sat on the floor in the middle of the moon’s beam, the parchment envelope still in her grasp. She suddenly found herself nervous to read it, nervous to see what her father had to say. This would be her first impression of the man, after all, and Catherine had no idea what to expect. His messenger was very mysterious in both looks and in what he said; what if her father was just as inscrutable?

“Only one way to find out,” Catherine said, then finally used her fingernail to carefully tear open the envelope and extract the letter within. As the night slowly began to turn to day, Catherine sat and read:

My Daughter,

Certainly, you have many questions to ask of me. All will be answered soon enough, once you are upon my ship and in my possession at last. I would have come to find you sooner if I had known of your presence in this world, but alas, the world is a cruel place, to hide a daughter from her rightful father…and to allow a mother to abandon her child. The world has wronged us both, my daughter, but I have found you at last.

There is one task I will require of you to complete before boarding my vessel, a task that I cannot complete myself for many reasons to be made known to you once you are here with me. Jonathan Barker—the man you have for years called your ‘father’—is not the man you think him to be. He has a debt to pay, one that cannot be paid by anything less than his life. Before you are to come to me, I want you to make certain that Father Barker pays his debt. If you do not make certain of his demise, then you will not be welcomed aboard my ship. I only ask this of you to make sure you are loyal to me and only me. If you do not believe yourself capable of this task, then do not bother coming back to the docks and leaving my messenger with an answer at all. I will warn you not be to attempt to fool me; I will not be had by a simple girl.

That being said, I know my daughter is not a simple girl. Do this for me and you will be accepted by me at last. Fail me and you will remain in Port Royal for the rest of your days. The choice is yours, Catherine Jones.

-Davy Jones, captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ -

“Oh my god,” Catherine whispered to herself, re-reading the letter once, then twice more. “Oh. My. _God_.”

~

When Michelle was much more awake and now completely alert in school the following day, Catherine told her that she was leaving. Of course, she had not quite worked out the details, and she could not risk writing anything down with the risk of Sister Judith—their instructor for the day—reading over her shoulder that she may or may not be planning to kill someone. But, of course, she must remain mum upon that fact in front of Michelle anyway.

At first Catherine thought that Michelle had not heard her at all, the silence between them lasted so long. But then Michelle blinked, and she knew.

“You’re leaving us?” the poor girl responded at last, quiet so that Sister Judith did not hear her. “After…after all we’ve been through together?”

“Well…yes,” Catherine said simply. “I mean…this man, he _is_ my real father. And he wants to meet me, Michelle. He’s…he’s found me and he finally can meet me. I can’t say no to that, now, can I?”

“But you’ve never even met the man!” Michelle paused. “Have you?”

“No, not yet,” Catherine admitted, “But…well, I mean, I know what to expect.”

“What do you mean by _that_?”

“I mean…well, he _is_ a sailor, you know…” Catherine said pointedly, her lie of omission _painfully_ evident. Sure enough, Michelle did not buy into it and told her so through her displeased face.

“What are you hiding from me??”

Catherine looked at her guiltily, then back towards the nun that was in charge of what was supposed to be a silent study time. Surely Michelle deserved a shred of the truth at the very least.

“…That ship…the ship my father captains…”

“Yes?” Michelle inquired.

“…It’s the _Flying Dutchman_ , Michelle. My father is Davy Jones.”

Michelle was not amused as raised an eyebrow at her sister. What Catherine had just told her was simply not to be. The infamous Davy Jones, her father? Never could such a thing be, for the elder girl did not believe in the sailor’s tale of the monstrous sea captain.

“It’s true, it must be true!” Catherine exclaimed, then quieted down significantly upon seeing the look upon Sister Judith’s stern face. She mouthed the word ‘sorry’ and pretended to be reading her scriptures, just as all her classmates were doing. When the nun was out of earshot once more, Michelle turned back towards her.

“Let me see the letter,” she insisted, to which Catherine shook her head.

“It’s too…personal,” she explained, clearly not convincing Michelle otherwise. “Anyway, you should believe me because I’m your sister and I would never lie to you. Davy Jones…he’s real, and he has come for me at last. I’m going to live on the _Flying Dutchman_!”

“Catherine Barker, you’re barking mad,” Michelle whispered. 

“That’s Catherine _Jones_ to you,” Catherine replied, a bit too loudly for Sister Judith cleared her throat at her once again and threateningly grasped at a wooden ruler. Thus, their conversation during class was over…but Catherine could not focus on the text before her, not when the text she had read just that morning was so much more interesting and life-changing.

As soon as they got out of school, the two girls made their way to the pier, just like they would any other day. Michelle rolled her eyes as Catherine continued to talk about her letter, about the foolish idea of Davy Jones being her father, until she had enough at last.

“Ok, stop,” Michelle said, standing in front of her sister, Bible at hand. “Even if this was all true—even if you had been invited to live upon your ‘father’s’ vessel—would you actually do it? You would just so easily leave us and the world you know thus far? What would father say? Or Ethan? Have you even given _me_ a thought thus far?”

“Of course I have, but—“

“But what?” Michelle said, the hurt in her words evident within her big brown eyes. Catherine sighed, thinking about how much more she would have to hurt her sister in order to be united with her father. The poor girl had no earthly idea how long she would be able to keep the reality of her father’s upcoming murder from Michelle…nor had she given it much thought herself.

“…But it’s my _father_ , Michelle.”

“Catherine!”

“Michelle!”

“I’m being serious, this cannot be! Your father is _not_ Davy Jones!” the fifteen-year-old exclaimed, alerting several people around them, one of which included Ethan, who immediately perked-up at the sound of the girl’s voices.

“What about Davy Jones’ locker?” the Marine inquired, slipping into the girl’s personal space.

“Nothing, Ethan,” Catherine said, glaring at Michelle as she tried to walk away. Ethan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and chuckled.

“Talking of pirates again, darling?”

“I’m not your darling, and _no_ ,” Catherine said, pulling away from the sailor, “I’m not talking of _pirates_.”

“For once,” Michelle replied, crossing her arms. Catherine narrowed her eyes at her sister, making Ethan raise his eyebrows. 

“Did I interrupt at a bad time?”

“No,” Michelle said at the same time Catherine replied a solid “Yes.” Ethan squeezed Catherine’s shoulder before letting go.

“Anyway, if you’re talking about Davy Jones, you must be talking about pirates.”

“Not necessarily, I—“ Catherine began before she was interrupted by the young man.

“And if you’re talking of Davy Jones, you must be having one hell of a conversation.”

“Don’t say ‘hell,’” Michelle chastised, to which Ethan laughed.

“You should hear what we say upon the ship.”

“We weren’t talking about pirates, we were talking about my father—my _real_ father,” Catherine insisted.

“Here we go again…” Michelle sighed, placing her thumb and middle finger upon her nose in annoyance. Ethan raised an eyebrow once again as Catherine audibly growled in annoyance.

“What about your real father?” Ethan inquired curiously. Just before Catherine could answer, though, the Marine asked sarcastically: “Is he a part of Davy Jones’ crew?”

“Well, actually—“ Catherine began but was interrupted yet again.

“Because if he is, that explains why you’ve never heard from him,” the Marine continued to joke, laughing to himself. Neither Michelle nor Catherine found him to be funny, though, and the younger of the two yanked herself out of the young man’s grasp, lifted her skirts and ran away. Michelle sighed and glowered at Ethan.

“Good job,” she said sarcastically before turning and walking away herself. Ethan raised his hands in confusion:

“What did I say?”

~

_The world has wronged us both, my daughter, but I have found you at last—_

There was a knock upon her bedroom door, then, and Catherine quickly stowed her letter from Davy Jones before Father Barker walked in, softly shutting the door behind him. Catherine stood in front of her bed, he hands folded politely in front of her as she tried not to look guilty. _After all, I haven’t killed him yet_ , she thought to herself, horrifying herself at the ease her mind came up with such a thing. No, she could not commit murder…

“What ails you, my daughter?” Jonathan Barker inquired, placing a hand upon Catherine’s shoulder. “Your sister expressed her concern for your wellbeing to me after school today. She says you keep spinning incredulous tales.”

“They aren’t...” Catherine began, but quickly shut her mouth, knowing better than to tell the man about the letter that she now hid under her mattress. Jonathan sighed and went to sit on the edge of her bed, gesturing to her to come and sit next to him. Catherine remained standing.

“You know what the Bible says about spinning lies, Catherine.”

“I wasn’t lying,” the fourteen-year-old replied simply.

“Then surely you can tell me what you said?” Jonathan replied, to which Catherine mentally kicked herself for even engaging in conversation with the man.

“I cannot say,” she said, feigning regret in her voice. “I am sorry, but I just can’t.”

“Oh, but I think you can.”

_Jonathan Barker—the man you have for years called your ‘father’—is not the man you think him to be._

Catherine suddenly narrowed her eyes and stepped forward, whispering in Jonathan Barker’s ear:

“I know that you’ve invoked the wrath of Davy Jones in the past.”

The young girl watched as Jonathan Barker’s face frosted over, his expression suddenly ten degrees colder than previously. He stood from the bed and looked down at his adoptive daughter and shook his head.

“This is the evil you speak of? A pirate tale that should have died with the man that inspired it?” he said evenly, to which Catherine felt her heart lurch at the very idea of her true father’s death. Already she was so devoted to him, without even meeting the man—a fact that slightly relieved her, for that would surely make it ever so easy to kill off Father Barker…would it not?

“It’s not evil, it’s fact. You’ve been lying to us—to _me_ —all these years,” the young girl said, gaining confidence in her words. “You’re not the man I thought you were, and you have something to hide—something to _confess_ , don’t you?”

Before she could even understand what was happening the preacher reared back and slapped her— _hard_ —across the face, rough enough to make her stumble back and grip at the wall for support. She rubbed at the bright red handprint upon her face, fury suddenly filling her all as she looked back towards the man she had previously come to know as her father, wondering where this rage of his came from and not caring to know of it anymore.

“You—you—“

“You are not the girl I raised you to be,” Father Barker whispered cruelly. “ _Never_ speak of Davy Jones in my household again, or else,” he threatened the poor girl, then made his way out the door, shutting it hard behind him.

~

Catherine wondered over how to perform the murder. Death by a knife or a pistol? Where would she even find a pistol...? Should she kill him in his sleep, or while he is awake? Which would be more merciful? Or does he even deserve her mercy...?

"How am I even considering this?" Catherine whispered to herself, horrified by her own thoughts...though not terribly surprised by them. All she wanted was to be accepted by her father, and if that meant killing the man that after all these years proved not to be the man she thought she knew, then so be it...

Then again, cruelty was a matter of perspective. Jonathan Barker was cruel in his words and actions only one time to her, slapping her when she mentioned the very name of Davy Jones. But Davy Jones himself did not carry an air of gentleness behind his nomenclature. The sailors spoke of a monster when they spoke of him, a true terror of the seas. What was her life going to be like aboard his ship? What if he turned out to be even more cruel than Father Barker?

Catherine pulled her letter back out from beneath her mattress, reading through her father’s words once again. Everything was clearly written, and yet confusing and questionable as the sea itself, his words not revealing enough for her satisfaction. Though he said he would like her to be with him, he never gave any clues as to whether or not he was capable of loving her as a father should.

What was worse was the fact that she would never know if she could not kill Jonathan Barker.

Night fell and Catherine still sat on the floor of her bedroom, clutching her letter within her grasp as though simply doing so would reveal more from its pages. She kept glancing out the window, trying to see if Bootstrap returned, though she knew better. No, he would not return that night unless she completed the task allotted to her. 

~

It was music to her ears; the crashing of the waves, the salt-tinged wind cascading over clear cerulean waters. As she sat on the pier and watched the wind shift the blue waters before her, Catherine took in the peace of the early morning. She wondered as she watched the ocean how it would look from the deck of a ship, how it looked from the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_. She wanted nothing more than to know this, and she knew what she must do in order to have this view within her grasp.

“You’re up early,” a familiar voice chimed in from behind her, startling Catherine out of her peaceful reverie. She looked over her shoulder at Ethan, then sighed and reluctantly scooted over so the young man could sit down beside her. He did so and looked into her deep blue eyes, wondering over what they held within their orbs.

“You’ve been thinking hard on something. Piece of eight for your thoughts?”

“Keep your money,” Catherine replied, rolling her eyes and turning to look back towards the sea.

“Then tell me what’s on your mind,” Ethan urged the girl, to which she sighed and replied:

“I’m going away forever. I leave tomorrow morning.”

“Michelle said you were talking of running away yesterday,” the sailor informed her. “Why do you want to leave?”

“To find my father—my _real_ father.”

“Is Father Barker not good enough for you?”

“He’s not blood,” Catherine replied simply, frowning slightly at the very thought of the man. “Besides, Port Royal can do without me.”

“So you say,” Ethan replied, “But is that so true?”

“It is.”

“Oh, but it’s not,” Ethan stated simply, making Catherine turn her head towards him in curiosity. “Think about what all you’re meant to do, what all you are meant to be here in Port Royal. Would you have all you have here if you ran away?”

“What do I have here?”

“Family,” Ethan said. “Friends…” He shrugged. “Maybe even love…”

“Love?” Catherine inquired. Ethan simply smiled at her and gestured towards himself, making the girl raise her eyebrows at the Marine. “You?”

“Yes, me,” Ethan replied simply. “You and I are meant to be together, are we not?”

“Well, I—that is, Ethan, you’re very—erm, very handsome, but—“

Before Catherine could say anything else, Ethan leaned in and kissed her softly, bringing a hand up to her face to caress her soft skin as he deepened their embrace. Catherine tried to pull away, but Ethan was strong, forceful in his effort to make a point. At last he pulled away, and the poor girl, muttered something unintelligible as she stood from her spot on the pier and turned her back on the Marine.

“You are meant to marry me—to be my _wife_ , Catherine,” Ethan said, smiling as he turned her to face him again. “You cannot leave, for you belong to _me_.”

At those words Catherine felt her simple irritation fume into a small flame on anger, and she pulled out of the Marine’s grasp.

“I belong to _no one_ , Ethan,” she said firmly, “Not even to _you_.”

“Catherine, I—“

“No, you don’t get to—to just come here and say that we were meant to be together, that you and I are meant to be _married_. I’m leaving and that’s final.”

“I won’t let you,” Ethan said, a minor threat within his voice as he grasped harshly at Catherine’s wrist. Catherine’s resolve was stronger than the Marine’s, though, and she managed to pull her hand out of his grasp as she spoke through clenched teeth:

“You do not have a choice.”

Ethan’s face darkened as Catherine turned and ran away, leaving him alone on the pier in the early morning light, nothing but the sounds of the sea speaking to him after she left him in silence.

As soon as she was satisfied in her alone-ness, Catherine exhaled shakily and shook her head. Everything she thought she knew about life in Port Royal was being turned upside-down, every part of it trying to keep her from leaving. Between her adoptive father slapping her and Ethan’s forceful confession of what he appeared to believe to be ‘love,’ every man she thought she knew was turning on her, warping themselves into monsters in an effort to keep her within their grasp. She knew right then and there that she simply had to get away, and she had to get away that night.

~

The house creaked more than ever that eve, the night wind embracing the evil that was about to occur. In the silence, Catherine quietly snuck into the kitchen and pulled a steak knife from its rightful place in the drawer, closing it quietly after her and wincing slightly as it squeaked. Her hands were shaking in nervousness as she exited the room and entered the parlor, facing the direction in which her adoptive father’s bedroom laid. She remembered the pain of his hand across her face and re-ignited her resolve to kill him. Tip-toing across the floor, she took a deep breath before Father Barker’s bedroom door. Pulling off her knapsack, she hissed quietly as she accidentally nicked herself with the knife as she set her bag of meager things upon the floor. She planned to flee immediately after murdering the man in the room before her; she just did not know how quickly she would have to get away should he scream in terror.

_Alright, I go in, approach his bed, slit his throat—or should I stab him in the chest? Or should I—ugh, I am not prepared for this!!_ Catherine panicked, gripping at her hair as she stared at the door in terror. She paced back and forth, trying to divulge a plan and muster up enough courage to finally enter the room. _What if he is awake when I go in there? What then??_

The girl stood before the door for thirty minutes straight before finally and silently entering the bedroom. There he lay, her soon-to-be murder victim, peaceful in his slumber that was about to be eternal. Catherine gripped at the knife in her hand, eyeing Jonathan Barker’s throat as she carefully approached the bed. Her resolve final, she lifted the knife up…and panicked again. The fourteen-year-old, silent but feeling a scream rise up in her throat nonetheless, bit her lip in an effort to calm herself, tasting blood as her canines ripped into the soft flesh there. She spit the taste out of her mouth…and in doing so, awakened Jonathan Barker.

“…Catherine? What are y…?”

The man saw the knife in his adoptive daughter’s grasp and narrowed his eyes at her.

“So you’ve chosen the path to Hell after all.”

The man’s condescending voice dripped in hatred, and Catherine glared down at him as she finally thrust the knife forward and into his chest. The man screamed in pain, making Catherine wince and glance back at the door. As soon as she turned away he grasped at her hand that held the knife and tried to take it from her. She felt his touch and gasped, then drove the knife into his chest again, and again, and again, ripping into the man’s chest cavity over and over until he stopped yelling—until he was silent as Death as It fell over his mangled body.

Catherine squeaked in shock, holding the knife to her face as she covered her mouth in an effort to hold in her screams. Her brief high evaporated as the horror of what she had just done sank into her mind. Her eyes widened as she heard Michelle’s voice call from upstairs. Her head jerked back and forth between the door and the blood-soaked knife in her hands. She had to think fast; how was she going to escape a situation like this? She could only think of one way, and that was to become a victim herself…which is why she stabbed her own hand.

She did not have to fake the scream of agony that filled her throat; momentarily numbed by the pain of the knife’s blade stuck through the thin bones of her palm, she barely had enough sight and wit left within her to grab a nearby candlestick from Jonathan Barker’s bedside table and chunk it through the window. Her crime scene had been created. When Michelle entered the room, she only saw her father lying dead and her sister wounded, not what had caused such a sorrowful scene.

She had no reason to believe that Catherine killed her father.

As soon as Michelle left to go get the authorities, Catherine took one last look at the man she just killed, grabbed her knapsack from outside the room and fled the scene. Her hand still throbbed as she wrapped a thin tourniquet about it, and soon droplets of dark blood began to drip onto the pale cobbled streets beneath the luminescent moon above. She was beginning to feel lightheaded, the initial adrenaline from the kill wearing off and replacing itself with intense shock.

She could not turn back now; she had to make it to the dock. She had to make it upon the _Dutchman_. Only then would she be free.

At last the sea shown before her, the onyx waters reflecting a dark mirror of destiny before her eyes. At last she set foot upon the worn pier, only the empty night greeting her there.

“He’s not here,” Catherine gasped quietly, looking all around her. “He’s not here. Oh god, why isn’t he here? I need him to be here, why isn’t he _here_ —?!”

“I’m right here, Miss Jones.”

“Aaah!” Catherine shrieked, turning on her heel and looking at Bootstrap with wide eyes. Unfortunately she turned too fast for her condition and tripped over her own feet. The barnacled sailor quickly steadied her, and then gasped quietly at the sight of her mangled hand.

“What happened?” he asked with concern. Catherine managed a shrug.

“Got caught post-homicide. I had to act quickly and, unfortunately as a result, acted quite rashly.”

“I can see that,” Bootstrap said, frowning slightly. “Are you—?”

“I’m fine. I can move my fingers and everything. See?”

Bootstrap observed as Catherine lifted her injured hand and moved each of her digits with ease despite the squelch of blood between each motion.

“That’s good, but not really what I meant,” Bootstrap said with a slight frown. “What I mean is…are _you_ alright, lass?”

Catherine stared at him for a moment, and then finally nodded once.

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine.” She chuckled darkly, lifting her face to look out towards the ocean. “I-I mean, yeah, I _did_ just kill a man, but…”

She sighed, and a single curl drooped over her brilliant blue eyes. “I just killed a man. I…I can’t believe he’s gone…because of me…”

A moment of stunned silence fell between them, and then the girl sniffed once and smiled expectantly up at the cursed sailor, as if she completely forgot about the recent past.

“So where’s the _Dutchman_?” she demanded of Bootstrap.

The sailor said nothing in reply; instead, he looked out at the dark waters before them. Catherine followed his gaze and gasped in surprise when the sea broke before them. There in place of the calm waters of the night emerged the _Flying Dutchman_ in all of its haunted glory. She gasped as water cascaded off of the seaweed and barnacles making up the maw of the hull. There it was, as fearsome and ominous as she expected it to be and more…and with a thick gulp she mentally prepared herself to meet her father, the captain of this monstrosity before her.


End file.
